


Likes, Dislikes, and A Thousand Shards of Glass

by words-writ-in-starlight (Gunmetal_Crown)



Series: a woman who calls herself Karen [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Assassin!Karen, Black Widow!Karen, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4410626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gunmetal_Crown/pseuds/words-writ-in-starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the woman who calls herself Karen encounters a ghost from her past, which almost goes badly and ends up somewhere like a truce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Likes, Dislikes, and A Thousand Shards of Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is the last one in the series, and you could probably read it without reading the others, but it'll make a little more sense with the backstory. It's much more lighthearted and linear compared to the others, which I'm kind of pleased with. Karen is a nice assassin, she deserves nice things, and I intend to give them to her. Enjoy!
> 
> (Also: Clint and Matt absolutely met by getting thrown into the same Dumpster. I really love the whole Dumpster Bros thing. Clint is there because there are a lot of code violations in the apartment building he 'acquired' in the comics, which I've thrown in because I kind of like that premise.)

Not much has changed since Karen—she has decided to stop thinking of Karen as a mask and start thinking of Karen as herself, on Matt’s recommendation—came clean about her past and learned about her boss’ extracurricular activities.  Matt now has an accomplished liar to protect him and his secret, which Karen accomplishes with the same swiftly efficient grace she applies to everything.  Foggy has someone to tease and laugh with and rely upon when Matt gets himself seriously injured (again).  And Karen…Karen has her freedom and she has her self and she is beginning to put the two together.  Karen has her heels and her terrible copier and she’s happy.

So she is singing the day the Avengers come knocking with a thousand shards of glass in the lead, her voice lilting through a familiar Russian lullaby—Foggy had been the one to catch her singing the first time, barely more than a hum under her breath, and she had apologized, but Foggy doesn’t mind and Matt likes having her voice to focus on, high and clear as it rings through the syllables.  She doesn’t sing often, although she is learning that she likes the feeling of the notes as they shiver up her throat and hang in the air like starlight.  Karen is a blank slate in many ways, still learning what she likes, Foggy dragging her gleefully to movies or Matt sharing his favorite music with her.  And she _likes_ to sing.  So she keeps it as if it is a precious thing, brought out only when the sky is clear and they have enough clients that they don’t have to worry about their finances and Matt has had a run of good luck and few bruises, and it makes them smile as she half-dances around the reception area, fingers light on folders and shoes intentionally clicking across the floor.  She is dressed the way she has discovered that she _likes_ to dress, impractical for fighting if she were anyone else, but understated and pretty, with heels and pencil skirts with blouses or a-line dresses.  She is singing a song she _likes_ , a Russian lullaby that she pretends to remember from before her capture, she painted her nails last night in a color she _likes_ , a rose-ivory-gold that sets off her hair, and she is planning to have her _favorite_ food for lunch, a Mexican restaurant that serves amazing enchiladas.  If Matt and Foggy ask nicely, she might even bring them some.

When there is a knock on the door, she stops singing and calls out that they should come inside.

She’s just turning around when the statuesque redhead walks in, and it’s only through the grace of God or something like it that Matt and Foggy haven’t made it out of their respective offices yet, because she knows instantly that this is about to get bad.  There is a man standing behind the redhead, but Karen only notes him as a potential threat, as the woman, slightly shorter than average and casually dressed in skinny jeans and a t-shirt under a jacket, goes still.  Karen looks at her and sees the thousand shards of glass within turned into something else, forged together with pure will into a body and soul.

“Um…Nat?  Is something wrong?” the man behind her, on the stocky side, asks warily.  Karen sees that he’s strong, muscles cording his arms—the bowman, she decides instantly as she palms the letter opener on her desk.  She also _likes_ that she can keep weapons like the letter opener in plain sight without being watched warily, although it took a few weeks for Foggy to sto twitching when she toyed with them.  Natalya ignores him completely.

“Why are you here?” Karen asks stiffly.

“I met Matt—uh—at work,” the stocky blond offers, lips twisted as if amused by something in the words.  “He said to come by if we needed any legal representation.”

“Leave,” Karen demands, taking a smooth step forward, silent despite her tall heels.  She can sense Matt at the door of his office, straining all his senses to understand what’s happening—he might actually have a better idea than Foggy, who can see it all anyway.  Natalya and Karen probably smell-sound-feel similar, their hearts thundering away with violent health and their bodies perfectly balanced in this moment of peace before the storm.

“What are you doing in New York?” Natalya asks, prowling forward a step.  She moves silently, lethal as the spider that had lent them— _her_ , the rest of them were mere backups—its name.  Karen stands poised to fight, calculating desperately how to best ensure that the fight doesn’t engage Matt or Foggy.

“Could we maybe close the door before the entire building catches on to who we have in here?” Foggy wonders with his usual brand of forced lightheartedness in the face of potential catastrophe.  And she _likes_ that too, the way he’s always so determined to be pragmatic, and he’s right this time, and it’s clear that the thousand shards in the shape of a woman knows it too.  So Karen steps backward silently, resting on her toes, and the man follows Natalya inside, and Matt seems to be considering how badly this has the potential to go.

“Is everything…okay, here?” Matt asks warily, stepping forward, and Karen’s head whips toward him.

“Matt, stay back,” she snaps, and she has _never_ snapped at him before, and she doesn’t _like_ it, actually she hates it, but he listens, freezing in place.

Foggy reports in a very calm voice, “We have Hawkeye and the Black Widow in our office, Matt, and Karen seems about a second from trying to kill her.”

“You are calling yourself ‘Karen’ now, Vasilisa?” Natalya asks.

Karen _likes_ her name, too.  Otherwise she wouldn’t have chosen it.  “You are calling yourself a superhero now, Natalya?” Karen parries without skipping a beat.  Natalya raises an eyebrow, her eyes as clear and stern as ever.

“My name is Natasha now, and no, I am calling myself an assassin, just like always.”  Her gaze sweeps over Matt and Foggy and Karen is within a hair’s breadth of snarling, stepping between them to protect her bosses from being shredded by those thousand shards.  “What are you doing here?”

“I work here.”  Karen considers for a moment, then sighs.  If Natal— _Natasha_ , she reminds herself, names are important, wanted her dead, she would have started the fight by now.  “I escaped too.”

The change of demeanor that washes through Natasha is astonishing.  Her shoulders loosen, her weight settling back onto her heels, and the harsh tension around her eyes softens ever so slightly, but to Karen, who grew up seeing the promise of death there, it is infinite.  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Karen gives her a very faint smile.  “I cut out my tracking implant.  See?”  She holds out her arm and Natasha steps forward in a swift movement to inspect it, running careful fingers over the unmarred skin until she is satisfied.  And then…and then Natasha looks up—Karen is taller than her now, and it’s strange, because in her mind Natalya towers over her, all those thousand shards waiting to rain down on her the moment she fails.  And the Avenger smiles.  It makes her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, and shows her teeth, and for the first time in her life Karen sees a woman, not a weapon, in those cool eyes and scarlet hair.  She _likes_ it.  “Now, why are _you_ here?”

“Not to hurt you,” Natasha says.  “Or your people.  Actually we need a lawyer and Clint said he knew an honest one.”

“Nat?” the stocky blond— _Clint—_ asks again, warier this time.  Karen knows the stance of a soldier, knows that he has a knife on him and he’s second from pulling it out.  “Who is this woman and do I need to call for backup?”

“No,” Natasha says.  “I don’t believe you do.  You go ahead and speak with Matt about your apartment building, Clint.”

"Karen?” Matt asks, clearly more prepared to trust her than either of the Avengers, and she _likes_ that.  She never knew before these two men what it was like to be trusted, really trusted by people who know what she is, and it’s a heady thing.

She isn’t a fool, though, so she keeps one eye on Natasha just to be sure.  The redhead doesn’t seem bothered.  “Matt, Foggy, this is Natalya—Natasha.  She and I were trained together.”

The whole room stops as if hung in stasis.  Matt and Foggy don’t seem shocked, but they’re careful—they’ve only been around her when she fights a few times, but it’s memorable.  Clint doesn’t seem shocked either, but from the way he watches her with one eye on the window, she wonders if he’s ever had a Black Widow try to end his life.  She knows the look.

Clint speaks first.  “Tasha.  I thought the others were dead.”

“Galina died years ago, and I killed Yelena when they sent her after me last year.  Vasilisa—Karen was presumed dead until this moment.  She is not dangerous,” Natasha says with absolute authority, and Clint takes her word without so much as a blink of surprise.  “Not unless she wants to be, at least,” she adds with a small smile in Karen’s direction, and Karen finds herself startled into smiling back.  This girl—this woman—broke her bones and tore her skin and a million other crimes, but Karen broke and tore and hurt right back and maybe that makes them something like even.  If sharing blood makes two people family, they’ve surely exchanged enough to be called sisters.

“I feel like we might have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Karen says, offering her hand and refusing to allow it to tremble.  “My name is Karen Page.  I used to be one of the other Black Widows.  Now I’m a secretary and I’m learning how to like things.”

Natasha smiles and her hand, ever so slightly smaller but just as strong, grips Karen’s fingers.  “Hi, Karen,” she replies in her smooth alto.  Karen wonders dazedly if maybe Natasha _likes_ to sing too.  “My name is Natasha Romanoff.  I used to be the primary Black Widow.  Now I’m an Avenger and I might be able to help you with that.”

The handshake is firm, as much an affirmation as a test, and contrary to Karen’s deepest expectations, she only encounters skin, not a single prick of glass.


End file.
